Daniel Weaver: Prophet of Doom
by Aldenata
Summary: AU: in a world where the aliens haven't yet invaded, Daniel Weaver deals with the loss of his family, business and home by contemplating life and the future with his closest friend. This is just one day in his life.


_**"THE END IS NEAR"**_

It was The Message. It was the first thing on Daniel Weaver's mind when he woke up that morning: preparing for the end of the world as he knew it, which The Boss told him was soon to come. Yes, very soon indeed, it could be any day now that They might arrive. The second thing on his mind was...

he didn't really remember. The morning's Dexedrine would fix that...

the second (third?) thing on his mind was just how cold it was on this mid-November day, even in the shelter of his dugout burrow. Pulling himself from his bed of cloth and cardboard and onto the dirt floor of his house, he lit a small fire in his coffee-pot stove and served himself a breakfast of whatever it was that he had scavenged last night and some slightly-used coffee grounds, which he ate directly. Direct caffeine injection: to spread The Message, he needed all the energy he could get.

After breakfast, he warmed a pail of water over the stove and gave himself a half-decent spongebath. The Boss had advised him not to waste time on such trivial matters as his own comfort when the fate of the world was at stake, that the efficacy of The Message was by no means affected by the look of the messenger, but it still seemed like something worth doing every now and then.

It was still dark outside, but that was actually a good thing. The fewer people who knew of his whereabouts, the better. He couldn't trust other people; any one of them might be one of Them. He took a Valium to ease his shakes. Brushing aside the leaves and foliage that concealed the entrance to his house, he stuffed some more newspapers into the lining of his threadbare coats and prepared to greet another wonderful day in the great Commonwealth of Massachusetts.

He walked to a nearby tree in his woodland lot and climbed it to retrieve his medicine bag, which he checked to make sure that no one had removed or added anything to it. He was going to need more Dexedrine and Valium for himself soon, and whatever else he could get for his clients. He'd have to swing by his wholesale distributors and see what they had. He was thankful for how long it had been since he'd last been in a dry spell and had to resort to harder drugs. He'd been in the pharmaceutical industry ever since his construction company had gone under. Didn't like it much, but it kept him alive and sane, and sometimes seemed to be more profitable than registered work. It helped that he didn't have to pay for rent or groceries any more.

He dropped in on a few of his clients and filled their prescriptions on his way, strategically distributing the cash throughout his pockets. The funds, assuming he didn't get mugged, would go to Preparations. His distributors had connections in the defense as well as pharmaceutical industries; he had just picked up a sweet SIG-552 Carbine in addition to all the other hardware secreted into long-term storage lockers. If only Ted Kennedy could know what was being bought and sold in the shadow of Harvard University...

But The Boss told him to head to Boston University today. He popped another Dexedrine. He would spend most of rush hour walking car to car, trying to spread the Message to the Sleepers. They pretended to ignore or disbelieve it, but he knew that some of them understood. He and the Boss had been working on the cloak of the Matrix for almost a year now, and surely many former Sleepers had been awakened by their efforts.

He visited a soup kitchen after that; he knew he would be too late to get much to eat, but it was a nice place to spread The Message. Noticing that he was talking to himself again, he took some more Valium. He spent the rest of the morning on a more reliable food source, checking his traps in back alleys and vacant lots throughout the area. Sure enough, he found a very large tabby crushed beneath one of the deadfalls, and packed it up for use in a nice bowl of stew. He wondered if the cat might have been an enemy spy; he and The Boss often discussed such things, and the latter had once said that all cats come from outer space, though he didn't remember where he learned that.

Afternoon meant lunch time, and that meant more preaching. Following that, he made his way to a nice little bakery and helped himself to the contents of the dumpster. He knew when the owners threw out their stale bread and figured it would go quite well with roof rabbit. It was no small point of pride for him that he could support a large family from trapping alone and a small army from trapping and scavenging if he wanted. Truly, the life of an urban outdoorsman had done much to prepare him for things to come. He was getting sleepy, so he took a Dexedrine.

November didn't afford a lot of daylight, so he had to finish the his medicine run quickly. He had to be circumspect in his actions, as he knew They had him under surveillance. Did frogs work for Them? There's no way that amphibians are of this world; HP Lovecraft was absolutely right about them.

He needed to pick up vitamins tomorrow. For the low cost, it was an excellent supplement to what he could find in his urban scavenging. Daniel Weaver hated the Commonwealth of Massachusetts and he especially hated Massachusetts winters. Boss or no Boss, he would have gone to warmer climes a long time ago were it not for a desire to be near the Sleepers of his own wife and daughters. Though he did his best to avoid contact with them now, they would very soon be needing him for protection.

Evening rush hour would be starting soon and Weaver made his way to his favourite street corner. He would do what he could till the traffic died down, then head home, eat, pop a Valium, sleep.

They came.

The Boss noticed them first, ethereal craft cutting through the cloudy sky on their way towards earth, come from some place where things are not as they are here. The evil emanating from them seemed overwhelming, glowing with colours that human minds could not describe which burned deep into the back of his eyes.

"I had already seen. Black ships ate the sky, and I am unborn." said Daniel Weaver, brain rapidly adjusting to the invisible light.

A look of grim determination and stoic perseverance swept over his face as he took out his sharpie marker and proclaimed the fulfillment of The Message:

_**THE END IS HEAR**_


End file.
